


Underneath It All

by deathishauntedbyhumans



Category: Neverwhere - Neil Gaiman
Genre: Adventure, Ambiguous Relationships, Friendship/Love, Gen, Internal Conflict, Internal Monologue, M/M, POV Third Person Limited, Post-Canon, a self-righteous weenie no less, the marquis is a bit of a weenie but we love him anyways
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-02
Updated: 2018-11-09
Packaged: 2019-08-16 15:56:04
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,750
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16498574
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/deathishauntedbyhumans/pseuds/deathishauntedbyhumans
Summary: Richard is doing his best to help Door find her younger sister, but he’s hit a snag in the investigation. The marquis de Carabas doesn’tdofreebies, but maybe... for Richard, he can make an exception. Once.





	1. Reuniting

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Carabas goes to Richard's home in London Below to ~~bother~~ speak with him. Richard has a request.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, it’s come to this, has it? My hundredth fic is a Neverwhere fic. Go figure. It seems fitting, though, since Neverwhere has consumed my life since the start of the semester. 
> 
> I’ve only actually read the play (since I’m _in_ the play) so take this with a grain of salt. Any details that seem Strange or Unusual probably stem from my own experiences with the characters and the actors who are playing them. (Ironically, I’m not playing Richard _or_ the marquis.)

“Go away, de Carabas.”

The marquis straightens up from where he’s stooping down behind a shelf full of bottles of different sizes and clears his throat awkwardly, one hand slipping up to straighten the cravat he always wears now around his neck.

“I didn’t think you heard me come in.”

“And _I_ didn’t think you wanted to be seen with me,” Richard says without looking up from the paper in front of him. “Don’t you have someone else to go and bother?”

For once, Carabas finds himself in a situation where he isn’t certain what to say. For all his bravado, coming here was an act of bravery far more intense than anything he’s ever done before… and he doesn’t like it one bit.

“I heard that the Lady Door is looking for her sister,” Carabas states at length, and Richard snorts.

“You brought me back into this world, Carabas,” Richard says, flipping his paper over and studying the back side of it. “I thought you knew why.”

Carabas feels a familiar frustration bubble up in his stomach. _This_ is the reason he has avoided Richard since taking him back to London Below: Richard creates these _emotions_ inside of him that Carabas doesn’t like to acknowledge. Emotions are useless things, unless they somehow make him a pretty penny or manage to further his own ambitions. And yet, it is difficult to remain… _unimpressed_ when he’s around Richard Mayhew.

“The Lady Door--” Carabas begins.

“Door.” Richard interrupts him firmly, finally looking up to stare at Carabas. He looks exhausted, but there is that light about him, that same calm demeanour that had descended around him when the dust from his fight with the Beast of London had settled. It is an aura that will never diminish, if what the legends say are true.

“...Door.” Carabas corrects himself with minimal hesitation, accepting the permission to refer to her casually. “She asked me to do her one last small favour. I could not refuse her, not when she released me from a life debt of the proportion of which she did.” He’s talking big, talking himself up. It’s _easier_ to talk big than to admit his own faults, his own shortcomings. “She did not, however, explain herself further.” He crosses his arms and steps out from behind the shelf. “And neither did you, Warrior.”

Richard winces a little when the title is mentioned. “You don’t have to call me that, you know.”

“I know.”

Carabas doesn’t say more than that, but he’s certain his intent is clear. Richard gives him a look, sizes him up, and Carabas watches himself be watched until Richard looks back down at the page. There might not be much that Carabas is willing to _say_ to bolster Richard, but in Carabas’ line of work, actions and intentions have always spoken louder than mere words.

“Door’s sister is only seven,” Richard says quietly, changing the subject. “But you didn’t even offer to help her.”

“I don’t _offer_ to help people.”

Richard rolls his eyes and then shifts closer to the paper, squinting at the corner. “Right, right. Of course. You only… what is it? Trade and barter? Take favours for down the road?” He speaks derisively, and Carabas bristles. His trade, his _business,_ is none of Richard Mayhew’s concern. He opens his mouth to tell Richard exactly that when Richard slams his hand down on the paper and turns away from it in disgust.

“...what are you doing?” Carabas finds himself asking, instead of giving Richard a piece of his mind like he’d intended to.

“I’m _trying_ to figure out what this _means,_ ” Richard says angrily, turning back so that he can gesture towards the paper still sitting innocently on the table. He glares as though it’s offended him. “Her name is written here, several times, but that’s _it._ ”

“Whose name?” Carabas asks, even though he’s pretty sure he already knows.

“ _Ingress_ ,” Richard bursts out with frustratedly. “Door’s sister. We found this in Islington’s citadel, and it _feels_ like it should be a clue.” He looks up at Carabas, and his eyes are wild, alight with fire and a crazed sort of energy that both makes Carabas nervous and excites him at the same time. “Will you take a look at it?”

Carabas knows he should say no. He knows he should leave, that he should tell Richard that coming here was a mistake and just walk away. Looking at this paper is getting involved, and he _doesn’t want_ to get involved. Not without a payment, anyways, or some promise of a favour. It doesn’t matter that Door is technically the daughter of one of his most fervent allies, or that the strange adventure with her and Richard through London Below was and remains to be one of his most treasured adventures deep down in the heart he refuses to admit to anyone that he has. Carabas is an entrepreneur, in the purest and most refined definition of the word. He’s made his own way in London Below, and he hasn’t done it by merely _giving_ out help wherever it’s asked of him.

But he looks at Richard, staring expectantly at him… and he can’t bring himself to say no.

“Fine,” he says loftily, waving a hand vaguely towards the paper. “I might as well, if you’re so terribly _desperate._ ”

Richard grins at him, relief palpable on his face, and Carabas ignores the way his stomach flips and forces himself to pick the paper up from the desk. Richard isn’t lying; Ingress’ name is written in several places along the page. The rest of the paper seems blank at first glance, but…

“Have you done anything to this?” Carabas asks, and barely glances up to see Richard shake his head. “I thought not. I need something to heat it with.”

“Heat?” Richard asks, confusion echoing in the word. He sounds like his old self for a moment, the person that he’d been when Carabas had first met him.

“Yes, that _is_ what I said. I’m so glad you haven’t lost your naive Upworlder charm,” he says.

“Bastard,” Richard replies without bite, shoving lightly at his arm. “I’ve got a little radiator around here somewhere. I haven’t had to use it yet, but Door said it’s probably going to get cold here in awhile.” As he speaks, Richard moves away from him, shifting piles of junk that Carabas doesn’t know or care to know where he’d gotten them from. Most of it seems like utter tripe to him, useless baubles and miscellaneous detritus that have no doubt fallen through the cracks from Above. After a minute or so, he pops up from behind an old, yellow-and-green patterned sofa with a small heater in his hand.

“It took you long enough,” Carabas snips, accepting the device when Richard holds it out to him. Richard gives him an unimpressed look that Carabas recognises well, if only because it’s a look that _he_ commonly gives to other people. Even if they haven’t seen each other since Carabas had dropped Richard off with Door after bringing him back into London Below, it’s obvious that Carabas managed to make some sort of lasting impression on him.

Carabas can’t decide whether the thought fills him with glee or dismay.

“Make yourself useful and get me something to drink, would you?” he says instead of making a decision, setting the paper on the desk. It only takes him a second to get the radiator going, and he sets it down beside the paper to allow it to gather heat.

“You don’t live here. This is _my_ … flat,” Richard says. Carabas catches the hesitation, and he very nearly wants to comment on it. It’s so _easy_ to find ways to make fun of the former Upworlder, after all. But he understands it, to a certain extent. Coming from one world into another couldn’t have been as simple as Carabas wanted to make it seem. The ways of London Below are normal to him, but he also grew up here. The ways of London Above are just as curious to Carabas as the ways here must be to Richard.

 _And_ , despite his bravado, Carabas doesn’t wish to be kicked out. He knows what Richard is capable of when he puts his mind to something.

“Yes, I am aware of that,” he replies airily, keeping things light. “It doesn’t change the fact that I’m thirsty, now, does it?” He makes a shooing motion, waving Richard towards the room that had appeared to be a makeshift kitchen when Carabas had entered the lodgings, and Richard glares unhelpfully for another moment before huffing out a sigh and acquiescing.

The radiator heats fairly quickly, and it isn’t long before Carabas carefully raises it to the paper. He watches intently as the paper wrinkles against the warmth, until slowly, he sees words begin to reveal themselves around the boldness of Ingress’ name.

Despite himself, Carabas grins. It does _so_ feel good to be correct.

“Come in here, Warrior,” he calls. Richard makes an annoyed sound from the other room.

“‘Get me a drink. Go there. Come here.’” Richard snipes in a poor imitation of Carabas. He enters the room as he speaks, a mug clasped in his hands. “Make up your mind, would you?”

“Shut it,” Carabas replies, no heat behind the phrase. He reaches for the mug, and Richard lets it go without any hesitation. “I’ve solved your problem.”

Instantly, any annoyance on Richard’s face melts away, and he attempts to shove himself past Carabas to get to the paper on the table. Carabas raises the mug above Richard’s head to keep it from spilling any of the liquid inside and shifts, taking only the proper amount of amusement from Richard’s stumbling as he moves aside for him.

“You did it,” Richard breathes, gaze roaming hungrily over the newly-revealed passage on the paper. “I don’t believe it.”

“Yes, well, some of us can actually boast keeping brains in our skulls,” Carabas states lightly, firmly ignoring the fact that Richard is standing close enough that he can feel the warmth of his body beside him. Richard doesn’t even bother to respond as he pores over the page, so Carabas lifts the mug Richard brought him. He sniffs it, and his eyes immediately go wide.

Where Richard found such a strong brew of coffee down in the Underside, Carabas has absolutely no idea. How Richard knew to keep it black without asking is one of the world’s finest mysteries, and it’s one that Carabas is just fine to never solve for himself. He can’t deny that his entire body relaxes just a bit with the first sip, though. The drink is just hot enough to ache in his mouth, but it doesn’t scald him on its way down his throat.

When he looks back at Richard, the Warrior is still staring at the paper, though he looks like he’s thinking, now, and not rereading the words.

“Well?” Carabas asks after a moment. Richard startles slightly, and the way he looks at Carabas blankly makes the marquis feel as though Richard may have forgotten he was there.

The expression clears, and Richard shakes his head. “I haven’t the foggiest idea what it means,” he admits. “But it’s a start. Door might know, and…” He trails off, staring contemplatively at Carabas. Carabas has to fight to resist the urge to squirm under his gaze, a feeling that it altogether unfamiliar and shockingly uncomfortable.

Carabas has faced down dozens of monsters, ruffians, thieves, cutthroats… And he has done it all without batting an eye. Yet, somehow, in the face of one Richard Mayhew, _this_ is where he feels like he might falter. If he hadn’t already figured out the reason for it, he might actually be concerned. (Even as it is, he refuses to acknowledge the reason, so it is a _moot point_.)

“I’d quite like it if you joined us, you know,” Richard finishes at length. Carabas blinks at him. “I would… owe you a favour. A— A big favour.” It feels like a test, like Richard is pressing a matter that Carabas doesn’t quite fully grasp. Richard’s eyes are heavy on him, picking him apart and putting him back together just wrong enough to make him feel jagged and off-kilter. “What do you say?”

Carabas _knows_ what he should say. An event of this nature, with the Lady Door and _Richard Mayhew,_  is worth so much more than a simple ‘big favour.’ He should demand more, at the very least, or deny the request altogether and laugh at Richard for daring to suggest it. Sure, Carabas might have a penchant for collecting favours for down the road and debts in his own favour, but this isn’t worth the chance of dying again. _Nothing_ should be worth dying again, not when he can’t call upon Old Bailey to resurrect him if —or _when_ — things go south. There is absolutely no way he can accept Richard’s offer. It isn’t safe. It’s suicide, that’s what it is.

“You do know what you’re getting yourself into?” Carabas asks, arching an eyebrow. Richard shrugs.

“I don’t think I ever know what I’m getting myself into down here,” he says, though he doesn’t sound nearly as concerned as Carabas believes he should about a statement like that.

Carabas _knows_ he should say no.

“I suppose someone has to look after you and the Lady Door,” Carabas says slowly. Richard begins to smile, and he raises a hand in offering.

“Is that a yes?”

Carabas stares down at the hand, shifts his coffee to his own non-dominant one. “When you put it that way… Yes, I suppose it is.”

When they shake hands, Richard’s is warm in his own. Carabas tries to focus on that instead of the possible suicide pact he’s just signed himself up for.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ianua is pronouned YAWN-uh and is Latin for (you guessed it) “door.”
> 
>  **EDIT** : When I was doing research for this goddamn fic, I couldn't find a name for Door's sister. Apparently, there's a canon(?) name for her? Anyways I'm keeping her name as Ianua out of spite for how difficult it is to find shit around here.
> 
>  **EDIT(again)** I’ve changed the sister’s name to Ingress because I’m tired of being spiteful.


	2. More Reuniting

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Richard brings Carabas to meet with Door in the sewers of London Below.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I wasn't going to write any more of this but a few choice people in my cast (lookin at you Gary, Croup) have inspired me to make more words happen.

“De Carabas!” Door’s voice, shrill with surprise, breaks the silence of the sewer around them. She comes into view, dim light from the street Above filtering through from a manhole to illuminate her, and Carabas stiffens. If it weren’t for Richard’s hand brushing gently against his back to keep him in place, he might’ve run there and then, favour completely forgotten in lieu of his own (not cowardice) self-preservative instincts.

“Lady Door,” he greets, hesitating only the barest amount. “You’re looking well.”

As much as he’s attempting to soften any anger she might harbour towards him, Carabas isn’t  _actually_ lying. She _does_ look well. Her cheeks are flushed with excitement, eyes bright despite the critical look she’s giving him. Her dress is new, too, the colours popping out in a clamour in her usual patchwork style. 

“As are you.” Door’s gaze flits, then, from Carabas’ face to Richard, and a grin breaks out immediately. “Oh!”

“I told you he would help eventually,” Richard states, patting Carabas on the shoulder and stepping out from behind him. They stand side-by-side, facing Door together, now, and Carabas feels just a little weight lift from his chest at the thought that Richard is on _his_ side.

“Richard, you’re wonderful,” Door gushes, rushing forward and wrapping her arms around him in a tight hug. Richard hugs her back, patting fondly at her back, and Carabas shifts his weight from foot to foot awkwardly. Eventually, Door pulls away from Richard and steps back to look at Carabas again.

“My lady--” he begins, but Door holds a hand up, and he shuts his mouth quickly, automatically.

“Save it, de Carabas,” she says. There’s a hint of a smile playing in her eyes, now, a mischievous sort of amusement that makes Carabas feels as though the young noble is looking right through him. “Are you really going to help me find my sister?”

Carabas has to fight to resist the urge to glance at Richard. “Yes, my lady.”

Door claps her hands together once and leaves them there, hanging in the air beneath her chin. “Well then! It’s settled.”

“It’s settled,” Richard repeats, and Carabas _does_ look over at him then. Richard is smiling too, but his smile is wide and unfettered, whereas Door’s is still much more guarded.

 _Lord_ , it’s so easy to tell that he used to be an Upworlder. Not even being the Warrior could change someone enough to fix that.

“You said that you figured out what that document said?” Door asks, changing the subject and looking at Richard for an answer. Richard nods, tugging the paper gingerly from his pocket and unfolding it carefully.

“I might’ve… erm, fudged the truth a little in the note I sent you,” he states as Door accepts the page. Carabas is certain she’s only half-listening, her gaze scanning determinedly over the page. “I wanted the marquis to be a surprise.”

 _Surprises aren’t a good thing, down here_ , Carabas barely resists adding.

“But he was the one who figured out how to get the rest of it to show up,” Richard finishes. His hand has found its way back to Carabas’ shoulder; a small part of Carabas (the stubborn, bull-headed part of himself) wants to shrug it off, but a larger part of him (the touch-starved, attention-starved part) revels in the contact. Richard likes to _touch_ , Carabas has noticed. Carabas wants to mind, but it’s _nice_ to be touched like this, to be treated like just another person instead of the persona of the marquis he’s been forced to create for himself around the rest of London Below. He really isn’t the marquis de Carabas when he’s standing beside Richard Mayhew. He’s simply… Carabas.

It’s _shocking,_ how soothing a thought that is when it occurs to him.

“It doesn’t matter who figured it out.” When Door looks up again, there are tears shining in her eyes. “What matters is that we have a clue. We can find her with this.”

Despite the excitement sparking through the air and igniting itself between Richard and Door, Carabas can’t help the doubt niggling in the back of his mind. “How do you know that document is trustworthy?” he asks, and _feels_ rather than sees both Richard and Door’s eyes swing to him.

“What do you mean?” Richard asks. Carabas rolls his eyes.

“How do we know we can trust _anything_ that was found among Islington’s possessions?” he reiterates, speaking slowly and deliberately as he bends in Richard’s direction. Richard frowns at him, and Carabas straightens up again, clearing his throat once. “I know that finding the Lady Ingress is a priority, but I cannot simply drop all of my faith into a piece of paper that the Angel may have planted there for us to find. It _could_ be another trap.”

“Islington thought I was going to open the door for it so it could escape,” Door retorts. “Why would it have lain a trap for us? It wouldn’t have had a reason to. If its plan had worked, it would be back with the other Angels right now. It wouldn't care about us anymore. We'd be dead. Croup and Vandemar would've killed us." 

“Do you know that for a fact?”

Door’s features darken, and she crosses her arms, taking a healthy step backwards. She nearly knocks into the wall of the sewer, and Richard reaches out to steady her with a gentle hand on her elbow. She lets him, but her gaze doesn’t leave Carabas.

“I know that this is the only lead I have to find my sister,” she snaps, drawing herself up to her full height. She isn’t as tall as Carabas, not by a long shot, but she appears larger in her anger. Carabas has to himself against it. “And that if you won’t help me, then I don’t need you.”

“Woah, woah. Nobody said anything about not helping. Door, just--“ Richard starts, but Door interrupts him. She whirls on him, wrenching her arm from his grip and glaring hard as he quails under the full weight of her heated gaze.

“You can’t tell me that you agree with him,” she demands. Richard shakes his head quickly, but then glances at Carabas and bites his lip. Carabas can’t read his expression clearly, but whatever he’s thinking, Richard actually straightens up again against Door’s wrath and takes a deep breath.

“I’m not agreeing with him,” he says carefully. “But I do think he has a point.”

“What are you talking about?”

“Islington was dangerous,” Richard explains. “This may not be a trap for _us_ , but we should definitely be careful regardless. I’m not saying we shouldn’t look for her--” he adds hastily, when Door's expression doesn't change. “--but I _am_ saying that Carabas has a point. We should be careful.”

Slowly, Door loses her edge, deflating in front of them like a balloon left out in the sun. “Oh,” she says. “You… you’re right.” She pauses, and then turns away. “I’m sorry, Richard. I just--”

“I know.” Richard jumps in when she seems to struggle to finish her sentence. “It’s alright.” He steps towards her and wraps one arm around her shoulders, and she allows him to, even going so far as to lean into his body. She tucks her face against his neck for a moment, and Carabas can see her torso expand with breath as she steadies herself.

Richard catches Carabas' eye over her shoulder and makes an apologetic face. Carabas finds himself shrugging a little, brushing the entire exchange off without saying a word.

“I’m sorry,” Door repeats as she pulls away again. She takes Richard’s hand, holding it and looking at him earnestly. “I know you’re only helping.” She looks past Richard, gaze landing on Carabas again. “I know you are, too. Even if you pretend like you don’t care.”

Carabas looks down at his gloves in a pretense of to inspecting them for dirt. He doesn’t like the way Door looks at him, as if she knows more than she should. It’s unnerving.

Carabas is used to being the one _doing_ the unnerving, not _being_ unnerved.

“Who said anything about pretending?” he asks loftily. When he looks back, Door and Richard are exchanging a knowing look, and he scoffs. He doesn't need their strange pity, or their... whatever it is that they're glancing back at him with. “Are we going to go find your sister, or not?” he asks, turning away.

As they make their way through the sewer, Carabas feels Richard’s hand brushing his shoulder blade once more. He hates that he doesn’t even want to pull away.

**Author's Note:**

> As always, kudos/comments are love. 
> 
> Come scream at me on tumblr @deathishauntedbyhumans.


End file.
